Nothing Like the First Time
by harmonyopc
Summary: Riza agrees to go on a date with Barry the Chopper, just to shut him up. Of course she will bring her guns; but will she need them? Manga!Armor! Barry/Riza Hawkeye, Rated OT / PG-13 for language and mentions of gore


**PAIRING:** Barry the Chopper / Riza Hawkeye  
**GENRE:** Humor  
**RATING: **PG / OT for language and mentions of Barry's bloody serial-killer habits.  
**WARNINGS: **Some graphic mentions of blood and guts; obsessive crushes.  
**DISCLAIMER:**I'm not the master puppeteer for these characters, Praise Be to Arakawa for having that title. I just yank on their strings once in a while.

"For the last time, _shut up!"_

Warrant Officer Vato Falman glared at the two beady lights glowing through the eyeholes of Barry the Chopper's expressionless skull-mask. "You canNOT go out with her, and that's that. You're lucky she didn't keep firing until one of her bullets caught that precious blood seal of yours!"

"I know," Barry replied dreamily. "But she didn't… so strong, yet so restrained! Such a lady! Please let me go out with her, just one time! I promise not to cut her up!"

Falman stared at him suspiciously. "I thought you said five minutes ago that the reason you wanted to go out with her _was _to cut her up."

"That wasn't what I said!" If anything, the white glow of Barry's "eyes" seemed to become more menacing for a second. "I SAID, I'd love to get my cleavers into her! It would be my pleasure! … but since you won't let me, I'll settle for a date."

"You'll settle for NOTHING, Barry," Falman said firmly. "The only reason we haven't killed you is you're still useful. That, and you don't need an ordinary prison cell with food and water and a bed." He sighed. "I wish I could say that meant you were low-maintenance – "

"I know, I know, you're sparing my life, lucky me, blah blah blah," Barry interrupted, pacing the floor, "but COME ON! The only thing I live for anymore is to slice and dice!" These last words were punctuated by the whistle of his gauntlets through the air, as though he were wielding his beloved knives. Barry turned back to Falman, who was staring back at him bemusedly. He added quickly, "That, and the possibility of a date with Riza Hawkeye."

"Uh-huh," said Falman. "Barry, _think _for a second. You can't bed her and you can't cut her up, so what the hell would you do on a date with her anyhow?"

Before Barry had a chance to respond, there was a knock at the door.

"Not a word," Falman warned with a stern glare. Barry stared back, unblinking.

Falman walked to the door and whispered, "Who is it?"

"Elizabeth," said a calm yet sarcastic female voice. "Open up."

Falman cautiously cracked the door, opening his mouth to apologize for the mess –

And was bowled over by an overenthusiastic suit of armor who had _somehow _managed to sneak up behind him without a single clank.

"MY HONEY!" Barry howled, practically clawing his way over Falman to get to Hawkeye. "MY DARLING, THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!? I'VE BEEN SO LONELY WITHOUT Y – "

"Get BACK!" Falman roared. He grappled with the suit of armor for another few moments before they heard the "snick_" _of a gun being cocked. Everyone froze. Riza was aiming at the dead center of Barry's chest.

"I know one shot might not kill you, but you really don't want to make me shoot you apart to do the deed properly," she stated calmly. "Let Falman go."

"Well, why didn't you just say so, toots," Barry's hollow voice echoed. He stepped back from the officer, gauntlets dropping to his sides. "Damn, can't a guy rush to the door to meet his girl without somebody – "

"She's not your girl," Falman huffed, glaring at Barry; at the exact same moment Riza turned on Barry and snapped, "I'm not your girl." Riza and Falman looked back at each other and blinked, all but forgetting the empty suit of armor they were berating; then Riza let out an uncontrolled giggle, very unlike her.

"OOOH! SOOO CUTE! I've never heard you _laugh _before! I have a new favorite joke, I've been saving it just for you …"

"Barry, shut up," Riza said matter-of-factly. The suit of armor obeyed but began to pace again, its faceplate constantly turned toward Riza even when its strides led away from her. She could feel the whitish glow of those eyes burning into her; through the protective shield of her uniform, she shivered.

After she'd shared the latest message from the colonel, she turned toward the door. Barry interposed himself between her and the exit, heedless of the gun she once more leveled at his chest plates.

"Sweetie, come on, when are you gonna let me take you out on the town?" he cooed.

Falman prepared to launch himself at the suit of armor. Only Riza's quick glance of warning staved him off. _She's more than capable of taking care of herself, _he thought. _Still … she's a fellow soldier… I can't just sit here and do nothing!_

Unexpectedly, Hawkeye stood down. She holstered her gun and crossed her arms conversationally as she regarded Barry with a total lack of fear. "How about tonight? – But let's not get too specific about who is taking whom to where."

Vato Falman's jaw hit the floor. "Hawkeye … _what _did you just – "

"Think about it, Falman!" she barked back at him without taking her eyes off Barry. "You've been bitching that you need a break for how long now?"

"B-but … Lieutenant … that's not what I – "

"Save it," she said shortly. "He won't hurt me. If he tries, I'll get the satisfaction of unloading at least one clip into him. I've been itching for a fight lately, anyway."

"Same here, darling," Barry agreed conversationally. "I'm bored out of my tits with this guy, if I don't get a chance to chop some – "

"You. Shut it," she said warningly.

Again, the giant suit of armor went silent.

"I have tonight off," she said, addressing Falman. "Does he still have that cloak? A lot of places in Central have a dress code, you know, and his armor is a bit unconventional."

"Uh, well, … yes. It's hanging in the front closet."

"Good." She looked at her timepiece, then back at Falman. "I'll be back in about four hours. Make sure he's ready. And by 'ready', I also mean 'no blades'."

"I'll be waiting for you, my dear," Barry couldn't resist telling her. She gave him a stern look. He tilted his head down at the floor and clasped his gauntlets penitently behind his back.

"Lieutenant," Vato began desperately, "I know I've said I don't like my new duties much, and I meant it, but I don't think this is a good idea." She opened her mouth to reply, and despite the insubordination to someone of higher rank, he desperately threw out his trump card: "Does the Colonel know what you're planning?"

Hawkeye looked Falman full in the face. "He will soon. _Not _that what I tell my superior officer is your business, Warrant Officer Falman."

He inclined his head. "No offense intended, Lieutenant."

She nodded crisply. Starting for the door, she put one hand on Barry's faceplate and effortlessly pushed the much larger suit of armor out of her way, reminding Falman of a horsewoman maneuvering a half-ton horse merely by pressing one hand on the animal's nose. As she departed, she threw back over her shoulder: "Think of it as taking one for the team."

"Taking one wh – " Vato never finished his sentence over the slamming of the door.

He elbowed past Barry (who was attempting to yell "Bye bye, honey!" through the crack) and locked and deadbolted the door.

Barry did an about-face so quickly he almost knocked Falman over. "OOOOH! Did you hear it! Did you hear it?! She likes me! She likes me, she likes me!" Falman added the sight of a giant suit of armor _dancing _from one foot to the other, chanting "she likes me, she likes me, she really really likes me" to the swiftly-growing list of things he'd never, ever thought he'd see in his life.

He followed Barry's ecstatic dance warily around the small apartment. Barry had a tendency to cut things up when he was really happy. Or really sad. Or really angry, or frustrated, or … well, actually, pretty much all the time. Vato sighed. He tried his best to tune out Barry the Chopper's love-struck litany, and wondered how many more sets of curtains and bedspreads the Colonel was going to have to reimburse him for.

Three hours and forty-five minutes later, he was ready to drop-kick Barry the Chopper's hollow ass out the door – anything to get him out of the way or at least shut him up. After calming down somewhat, the giant suit of mismatched armor had crammed himself into the tiny washroom, obsessively examining every surface he could manage to hold up to the mirror. He'd already gone through Falman's entire stock of silver polish and buffing cloths ("_That's _all you have?"). More than once, he attempted to enlist Vato's assistance.

"Hey, buddy, I could use a little help here," he called. Vato, who had just settled down with the day's paper after assuring Barry for the ninetieth time that no, Hawkeye wouldn't care whether his gauntlets had rust on the wrists or not, rolled his eyes and did not respond. "I'm serious," Barry screeched. "I have a bloodstain on the back of my leg! I can't reach!"

"And whose fault is that for choosing a hobby like cutting people up?" Falman fired back.

"I can't help liking what I like! I was born to kill! … Besides, what the hell else d'ya expect a guy to do when he's nothing but a soul stuck in a suit of armor?"

"You might ask Alphonse Elric that question," Falman muttered under his breath. He resignedly put down his paper and stood up. _I can read after he's gone, _he thought. _It'll be the first quiet I've had in … I don't want to think of how long…_

He'd taken a grand total of two steps toward the washroom when someone knocked long and loud on the door.

He barely got out of the way in time. A giant shining blur whooshed through the space Falman had just occupied, leaving Falman stumbling in its polish-scented wake.

"Sweetheart!" Barry tugged at the doorknob fruitlessly. He seemed to have forgotten how the locks worked. He turned to Falman. "Get over here, would you!?"

"Barry," Falman hissed, "behave yourself!" Barry continued to paw at the door. "She's a _lady, _remember?" Falman threw out desperately. "You need to behave like a gentleman!"

At that, Barry meekly stood back and folded his gauntlets.

"Elizabeth?" Falman called cautiously, his hands on the locks.

"The same," he heard Hawkeye's voice reply.

He opened the door to the smiling visage of Riza Hawkeye –

And the scowling face of Colonel Mustang.

"Hey!" Barry was outraged. "You didn't mention anything about bringing the chump along!"

"Take it easy, Chopped Liver … or should I say, Liver Chopper," Roy sniffed. "Every first date needs a chaperone, right? I'm just here to make sure you behave." He held up a hand, tugging on his ignition-cloth glove for emphasis.

"Colonel," Riza warned.

Mustang lowered his hand.

There was an uneasy silence. Hawkeye inclined her head toward the outraged suit of armor. "Relax, Barry. He won't be there the whole time. I just wanted someone to drive us. Didn't want to walk all the way downtown in my new boots."

At the mention of the boots, Barry stepped forward and looked her up and down. She felt the urge to fidget, but forced herself to keep still while he examined her. Rather than one of the frilly, full-skirted, ribbon-and-lace-bodice gowns that were popular for a night on the town these days, she had opted for a simple black calf-length dress, with a matching long-sleeved jacket. Her leather boots came up to the knee, and were actually quite comfortable to walk in – if a bit old-fashioned. She'd deemed her attire formal enough, yet practical enough, for a date with a complete monster … and the Colonel had agreed.

She suppressed a smile as she thought again about "taking one for the team." The look on Falman's face when she'd made that remark had been worth a week's salary. And when she'd told the story to Mustang … she'd never forget how thanked her over and over for the best joke he'd heard in weeks (while wiping the tears of mirth off his face). And then his expression when she'd informed him she was serious.

These thoughts gave her unexpected courage. Not that she was afraid of Barry in the first place! Barry was a demented creep, yes. But one creep was no match for a dedicated soldier such as herself. There was no harm in going on this date, and if Barry the Chopper gave her a reason to take him out with a well-placed bullet … well, there was no harm in that, either.

Barry whistled. "Lookin' good, sweetie!"

"Thank you," she replied with absolute composure. "Same to you. Very … shiny."

"Awww, shucks." He rubbed the side of his faceplate with one glove; if it was possible for a suit of armor to blush, he would have.

"Let's get going," Mustang interjected. "Barry, where's your cloak?"

"I got it, Sir," Falman piped up. He shoved the hooded cloak toward Barry, who donned it with a flourish. He clanked to Riza's side and offered his arm, which she took with no hesitation.

"We'll be back, Falman," Mustang advised crisply. "Don't wait up."

Before Vato could reply, Roy closed the door. The clacking of two pairs of boots and the clanking of one suit of armor faded into the distance.

Riza entered the crowded restaurant with her hand once more on Barry's arm, although it was she who was leading the way. She ignored the sidelong glances of the Maître d' and the out-and-out gawking of the other staff. "Reservation for two," she proclaimed. "Under the name Hawkeye."

"Right this way, Sir, Madam," the host replied smoothly. This place was upscale enough that no one would be rude to them or ask awkward questions about the armor. Riza noticed that Barry seemed to be shuffling his feet so that he wouldn't clank so loudly. She was pleased, and a little surprised, that he was trying to blend in. She'd half expected him to make a complete spectacle of himself and to have to talk him down … or shoot him.

The table they were guided to was large enough to accommodate Barry's bulk while also being close enough for two people to talk in low voices.

Barry whipped off his cloak and started to sit, then quickly leapt back up to help Riza out of her coat. It was a noble gesture, but when he stood, he hit the table with his leg and upset the delicate little flower vase, which cracked open on a bread-plate and spilled water everywhere. Riza finished taking off her coat and draped it over her chair before snapping open one of the folded napkins and throwing it over the water, which was quickly being absorbed by the white linen tablecloth.

"Whoops!" Barry all but cackled. "Sorry, baby. You know what they say, bull in a Xingian dish shop – "

"It's all right," Riza said, a little tense. "Let's – just sit down."

Since he was still standing, he insisted on seating her. For a split second, she was afraid, not wanting him behind her with her guns still holstered … then she steeled herself. Without any sign of effort or strain, he actually _lifted the chair off the floor _with her in it and placed it in a little farther in toward the table, rather than just sliding it forward. She suppressed a shiver, remembering how strong Alphonse Elric was, how many bodies Barry had effortlessly dismembered since being bonded to the armor…

"There," he said, seemingly satisfied as he took his seat. "Now, where were we…?" He reached one gauntlet across the table, palm up.

She sighed. "Barry, whydo you want to hold my hand if you can't even feel it?"

"Darlin', it doesn't matter whether I can feel it," he crooned. "It's enough that I know it's there!"

"You can know it's there while it's under the table in my lap, too," she pointed out.

"After all," he continued brightly just as if she hadn't spoken, "I can't really feel the blood and flesh and entrails when I chop someone up, either, but does that make it less satisfying? … Well, actually, never mind, it kinda does," he said, seeming to droop. "Then again," and he perked back up, "I don't get tired either, and that means I can kill a whole lot more people, so it's not all – "

Riza breathed a sigh of relief when the waiter approached their table. "Good evening," he greeted them smoothly, offering two beautiful leather-bound menus. Riza noticed his eyes widening in shock as Barry all but snatched the menu from his hands; after that, the young man was obviously trying to avoid staring at Barry, so he looked only at Riza. "What will you have to drink, sir and madam?"

"Drachman ale, if you've got it," Barry promptly responded. Riza was glad he'd ordered something of his own initiative – it would have looked odd if he hadn't, and she'd forgotten to advise him to do so.

"Hot tea for me, please," she said.

Nervously, the waiter asked, "Would you like to hear the house special tonight?"

"That would be lovely," Riza said.

The waiter was halfway through his detailed description of the tenderness of the filet and the succulence of its accompanying sauces when he was interrupted by Barry. "Say, d'ya know whether your beef cattle were shipped in from the East or the West?" The waiter blinked. "Since there's no good farmland close to Central," Barry continued wistfully. "Always have to import the cattle from somewhere. And I much prefer the Eastern variety. You have to get 'em younger and butcher 'em faster, but it's worth it; say if the cow is – "

Seeing where this was headed, Riza interrupted. "The special sounds excellent," she said. She spoke quietly, but as always, the sound of her voice was enough to take Barry's entire attention off whatever he'd been saying. "I would like mine with seasonal vegetables, please. No salad, though."

"And how would you like that cooked?" the waiter asked. He was so clearly relieved to be conversing about something normal that he stood up straighter and smiled as he readied his pen and pad of paper.

"Barry," she said, and his glowing eyes met hers. "What would you recommend?"

"Medium rare," he said without hesitation. "The more blood is left, the more flavor you – "

"Medium rare it is," she addressed the waiter. She handed the menu back and folded her hands in her lap. Everything felt oddly surreal; she had no idea what Barry would say or do next, and there was nothing to be done but to wait and see.

"And for you, sir?" The waited did not raise his eyes from his pad and pen while he spoke to Barry.

"Hmm. I'm not really that hungry," he said flippantly. "How's about we share, sweetheart?"

"That's fine with me," she said quietly.

"Very good," the waiter said, scribbling at his notebook. "Are you sure you two won't be wanting that salad, then?"

"Oh, yes," Barry piped up. "I _love _salads. I'll take it if she doesn't want it!"

"Thank you. I'll get this order right in," said the waiter. He backed away and bowed awkwardly, then did an about-face so quickly that he crashed into another table (which, luckily, was empty) before correcting his course and heading for the kitchen.

"I don't even have my cleavers on me, and I still scared him half to death!" Barry giggled, a high-pitched, almost womanish sound.

"No, I think it was me," Riza responded dryly. "I have that effect on men."

Barry was momentarily startled into silence.

When their drinks came, Riza was surprised to learn that Barry had ordered the Drachman ale not to maintain the façade that he still had a body inside the armor, but so that Riza could taste it ("You don't look like much of an ale drinker, dear, but you have to at least try it!"). And when the steak arrived, he did not hesitate, but picked up the steak knife and fork and carved the entire entrée so quickly and efficiently that the utensils seemed a silvery blur to Riza's astonished eyes. "There," he said, sitting back with a final flourish. "Even without my cleavers, I've still got the knack! Once a butcher, always a butcher."

"Is that so," Riza replied evenly. She began to eat, trying not to think of Barry butchering _anything_. She'd never ordered a steak medium rare before; she was astonished at how much she liked it. To her relief, he did not insist on reliving any more of his experiences with cutting and carving; he merely watched her with those unsettling glowing eyes.

"Do you miss it?" She asked the question on impulse, then regretted it as soon as it left her lips.

"Miss what?" Barry was puzzled.

"Eating," she said, fighting a blush away from her cheeks. "Drinking. Breathing. All of it. Any of it. Don't you want your original body back?"

"Naah. I'm so much better off like this. I get to do what I love and no consequences. I mean, what are they gonna do if they catch me again? Execute me?" He laughed his hollow, eerie laugh. "Besides, honey, it's so nice watching you eat that I wouldn't wanna distract from it by having to fill my own stomach!"

Unsettling as that was, she couldn't help laughing, too.

"Where are we off to next?" he asked with his usual brashness once she sat back and folded her napkin. "Are we gonna have to see that guy again?" He grumbled, "What a stuffed shirt that one is. Why d'ya hang out with him anyway? Whaddya see in him?"

"We won't need the car for now," she said, standing and finding herself being helped back into her greatcoat by a very accommodating suit of armor. "It's close enough that we can walk."

"In that case, let's get walkin', toots!" He offered his arm again, gallantly, and once more she took it. That sense of unreality, of being in a dream, was stronger than ever.

"Oooh! A play! I've never been to one of them before," he squealed when they approached the box office. "Look at all the niiiiice people lined up here!"

Hawkeye ignored his slightly creepy enthusiasm. She thought of what it must be like to see the world through his eyes; everywhere he went, everyone he saw, he was only thinking of how they would look and … feel? Make him feel? … once their flesh was separated from their bones.

Even her.

No … _especially _her.

Ugh. No matter how often she had killed, and would kill again, in service to the State or to protect Roy Mustang, she would never in a thousand years be able to understand someone like Barry the Chopper.

" 'Benjamin Barker: The Barbaric Butcher of Swift Street'? Well, who'd 'a thunk it," he cackled. Heads turned as they negotiated the aisle shown them by the usher. "You really were thinking of me, weren't you! Oh, sweetie, this makes me so happy I just wanna slice into you to celebrate! I think I read about this play in the paper. Man after my own heart! Slices up rude customers and serves 'em in meat pies! Are they gonna cut people up on the stage?"

"It's a play, not a public execution," she replied as she sat down, calm and even as always. "It's more famous for its music."

"Music? They're gonna sing songs about cutting people up?"

"So it seems."

"I can't wait!" Riza never thought to see a hollow suit of armor bouncing up and down in a theatre seat. "This is gonna be so good!"

"This show is very popular," Riza concurred.

"Might not be so popular if they knew this guy really existed, ya think?" He tapped himself on the chest-plate and giggled again, that high-pitched, almost womanish sound. "Well, I never actually served them up," he said modestly. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "I take that back. There was Old Man Johnson … he complained so much I had to shut him up somehow, and I had a _lot _of customers the next day, so … had to make do with what I had. Nothing worse than – "

"Hush," Riza admonished gently. "The lights are going down. It's time."

As best she could tell, Barry's glowing eyes never left the stage … except, of course, to stare at her. She ignored him stoically. _How ironic is it, _she thought sourly, _that I'm counting this as a good date ONLY because he hasn't tried to kill me?_

Afterward, Barry was even more loquacious than usual. "They got it right!" he crowed. "I wonder, was that real blood? Naah, couldn't have been. Too hard to wash out. They'd have to make new costumes every time. Looked just like it, though! Didja see how he wore his butcher's apron even when he was sneaking up on someone? Brilliant! Wish I'd thought of that. Woulda saved me a lotta trouble. And that lady he ended up cutting into after all … she was so tender. Just like my wife! Ah, that show put me in mind of the good ol' days," he sighed. Even with Barry partially-disguised in the cloak, Riza noticed the other patrons giving them a wide berth as they exited the theatre.

"What do you mean?" she asked quietly. "It hasn't been that long for you, has it?"

He didn't answer right away. She glanced up at him as they walked.

He extended his gauntlet again, and this time, she took it.

"I dunno," he said finally. "It hasn't been that long since I chopped someone up. But I guess there _is _something more satisfying about doing it when you're made of meat, too."

Riza couldn't think of a reply. She just nodded. Oddly, her gorge didn't rise this time at the realization that she was walking down the street hand-in-hand with a monster. She was, oddly, coming to accept it.

"Speaking of," he continued, "are you sure you won't let me slice you up? I love you so much, I promise it would be the most spectacular murder ever! People would be talking about it for months – no, years!"

"Hell, no," she snapped, yanking her hand out of Barry's grip. Her newfound acceptance had vanished. "I'm serious, Barry! I know you're crazy, but even you have got to see that killing someone isn't a way to show you love them!"

"Why not?" He sounded pained and confused. "You've killed plenty of people! It's obvious! That's one reason I fell for you! No matter how I tried to scare you, you just kept shooting me! No hesitation!"

"I've killed other people to protect those I love. Not the loved ones themselves! If you love me, why would you want to kill me?"

"It's such a wonderful, dramatic way to die," he replied passionately. "Your name would be immortalized as my most tragic and beautiful victim! Out with a bang! What're your other choices? Wait around for some stupid accident, or disease or old age…. boooor-ring! Think about it! _Everybody _dies, but how many people can say, 'I was chopped up by a serial killer'?"

"NONE of them can, you IDIOT," she shouted, throwing up her hands. "Because they're DEAD!"

"Ah. Hmm," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest-plates. Clearly, he hadn't thought of that aspect before. "Well… uh…" He suddenly straightened up and planted his gauntlets on his hips. "But _I _would remember! And I can't die!"

"Not good enough, Barry," Riza shook her head. "Besides … yes, you can. Eventually, you will be gone, too."

He said nothing more. After a minute, they kept on walking, side by side, but no longer hand in hand.

Mustang was waiting at the curb when they turned the corner. Barry and Riza clambered into the back seat without a word.

"So, how was everything, Lieutenant?" Mustang very pointedly did not address Barry.

"Went well, I suppose," she replied evenly.

"You gotta see this play," Barry piped up. "It's really great! The guy is just like me. Except he sings while he's slicing people up. Never thought of that before…"

"Is that so," Mustang replied. Riza couldn't tell whether he was amused or angry. Maybe both.

When they finally got back to the door where Vato Falman was waiting, Barry turned to Riza and took both her hands in his gauntlets (they were so huge, her hands disappeared inside them). "Bye bye, sweetie," he said simply. "When will I see you again?"

"Soon enough, I'm sure," she replied with faint amusement. Surprising even herself, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed the side of his faceplate.

"OOOOOH! That was wonderful! Do it again, do it again doitagain," he chanted.

"Good night, Barry," she said bluntly, and turning smartly, she marched off, the Colonel at her heels.

"Good night, my darling! Thank you for a lovely evening! I'll never forget it!" he called after her enthusiastically, hopping up and down and waving with both arms.

"She's not looking, you dope," Falman said. His voice was somewhat muffled.

Barry looked at him sharply. The man's face was buried in his hands. He snorted, and Barry couldn't tell whether he was laughing or crying.

For a second, it looked as though Barry was going to make a break for it and try to chase Riza down; but he seemed to realize almost instantly that –

"I know what you're thinking. But if you stay here, you might get to see her again, _and _live," Falman remarked sarcastically. "If you chase her, she'll shoot you, and she won't spare your life this time."

Barry strode past him into the small apartment. He bent at the waist suddenly, and from behind one of his greaves he whipped out a six-inch straightrazor, which he proceeded to hurl at the dartboard on the far side of the room. It missed the bull's eye by nearly three inches, Falman noted absently.

"Barry," he said in exasperation, "I told the Lieutenant you wouldn't have any blades on you. Why did you carry that?"

"I told her I wouldn't chop her up," Barry replied wistfully, "no matter how much I might want to." Through the eyeholes of his mask, he fixed his eerie white-pinpoint-light eyes on Falman. "Now you know I meant it."

Falman lowered his eyes and walked away, unable to argue. What did he know about devotion, anyway? he thought abashedly. It wasn't like he had a girlfriend, either.


End file.
